The Greatest Gift
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: "Those chosen by darker forces must perish before they fully awaken. Death is the greatest gift one can bring to these condemned. For when they awaken, their spirits shall wither and die within them until nothing but evil survives." As John aimed the gun at Sam's heart, he reminded himself of this. He wouldn't let Sam become evil. *Slight AU, Limp/hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean*
1. Saving You

_** Author's Note: **__I'm not sure what brought this on . . . I've just had this image of John pointing a gun at Sam in my head for a while now. Anyways, John never died and this takes places after "In my Time of Dying" and John traded the Colt to save Dean, but never gave up his soul. This will be a two-shot. Please enjoy!_

_**Yellow-eyed demon**__: You know the truth, right? About Sammy? _

_**John**__: Yeah. I've known for a while._

_**Yellow-eyed demon**__: But Sam doesn't, does he? You've been playing __dumb__._

—"_In My Time of Dying"_

They had survived.

Sure, they had been hit by a possessed driver after a nasty run in with Meg, Sam had sustained countless bruises, Dean had almost died, and John had come dangerously close to getting himself killed as well; but, in the end the Winchesters had managed to survive.

For that, John was grateful.

Sure, he didn't believe in a higher power, but maybe karma or whatever there was out there had taken pity on his family for once. His two boys were asleep upstairs—both breathing and recovering, the Impala was still salvageable, and Bobby had allowed them to rest for as long as they needed even though John had been so rude to him the last time he had been here.

Life was looking up.

"John?" Bobby's voice startled the oldest Winchester and John almost dropped the coffee cup that he had been fiddling with. Bobby was an old hunting buddy and despite the fact that he and John had had a nasty falling out, he was still looking out for him and his boys. One thing was for sure, after this Bobby Singer was getting the best apology that John could muster. "You alright?" There was the tiniest flash of concern in the gruff hunter's eyes and John nodded his head slowly.

"Yeah," John answered. "Just lost in thought."

"Well, get some sleep," Bobby ordered. "We can worry about the damn demon in the morning." With that, Bobby marched back upstairs and John wearily sat down in one of the rickety kitchen chairs. Sleep? How could he sleep when the monster that killed Mary had the Colt and now had his sights set on Sam? He sighed thinking of his youngest. Sam had no idea what the demon had in store for him nor did he know that he wasn't the only child with powers. It turns out that there had been children all over the country who had survived a nursery fire at six months old. These children grew up, learned how to master their powers, and then they would suddenly kill everyone around them. It was almost as if a switch had been flipped—one second the children were good, the next they were shedding blood and creating chaos.

And Sam was one of these children—a time bomb waiting to go off—and John didn't have the faintest idea how to save his son from his fate.

"Damn," John cursed with a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. "Sammy." What was he supposed to do? Finding the demon had nearly gotten them all killed and he couldn't risk going after the damn thing now, not when he was barely in any shape to move around for more than an hour. All the research John had done had come up with nothing other than vague ideas and possibilities. It wasn't like he could ask for help either, not without exposing his youngest as a "monster" to some hunters. No, John had to deal with this himself.

But how?

A wave of exhaustion hit him and John yawned. Glancing around the room to make sure all the wards and salt lines were still in place, John went upstairs to bed. Hopefully, he would come up with something in the morning.

* * *

_John was in a field. _

_Dead grass surrounded him and as he took a few steps, it crunched underneath his heavy boots. Glancing around, John shuddered, as a cold wind seemed to envelop him. A feeling of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach and his hunting instincts immediately flared up as he approached the center of the field. Blood was everywhere and John grimaced as he saw the piles of bodies that littered the ground. Lifeless eyes stared up at him and John forced himself to look away and keep moving. _

"_Sam?" His voice came out as a whisper as he saw his youngest in the center of all the blood. Sam smiled sinisterly and John watched in horror as Sam tossed Dean's limp body to the ground. "No!" _

"_Yes," Sam replied, his eyes turning coal black and the smile growing wider and even more sinister. "You should've killed me when you had the chance." _

_With that, Sam charged at him and John heard a sickening snap before everything went black._

* * *

The nightmares went on for days, costing him precious hours of sleep, and they were all variations of the first one.

Sometimes, John would make it to Sam before Dean died. Other times, John would never even find Sam, but just hear his wicked chuckles filing the air. The worst nightmares were when John would see his youngest in a pool of blood, bodies surrounding him, glancing up at his father with a _help me, Daddy_ look before the Sam that he had raised vanished as he killed John. Suffice to say, John avoided sleep like the plague and buried himself in research, trying to find some way to prevent his son from becoming a monster. His closest answer came in the form of an old Latin text that took John four hours to translate and even then, the answer wasn't the one he had been hoping for.

_Those chosen by darker forces must perish before they fully awaken, lest they bring ruin and chaos. Death is the greatest gift one can bring to these condemned. For when they awaken, their spirits shall wither and die within them until nothing but evil survives._

There it was in print—death was the only way.

John shook his head and swore under his breath. He couldn't kill Sam—he wouldn't kill Sam. There had to be a way, there always had to be another way! With that thought, John rose from the table and went to pack his duffel.

He was going on another hunt.

* * *

This really sucked, Sam thought as the kitchen flickered before him.

Sam's vision had been the same for three nights in a row and it was only by a sheer miracle that Dean hadn't been around to see the vision and its after-effects unfold. As he felt the familiar slam of pain hitting his skull, Sam braced himself against the kitchen counter and somehow managed to turn off the stove before the pain became too much and Sam was carried away into the world of the vision. Bobby was out getting food, John was God knows where and Dean was banging on the hood of the Impala with a crowbar trying to the get the dents out. All the noise meant that his older brother wouldn't find out about the vision this time either.

"Shit!" Sam exclaimed as his head felt like a jackhammer was pounding into his skull. The kitchen faded away and was replaced by the same spot that had haunted him for his previous visions.

_He was in a field of dead grass._

_His father stood before him, a grimace on his face and pain in his eyes. Yet, John Winchester stood resolved with the gun pointing directly at Sam's heart. One pull of the trigger and Sam would be a goner._

"_Dad?" Sam mumbled, shock tying up his tongue because this couldn't be really happening, right? His dad would never willing shoot him, would he? "Christo." John didn't even so much as flinch. Which meant, Sam realized with a horrified deduction, that John wasn't possessed. _

"_I'm sorry, Sammy." John sighed, the pain encompassing his features and grief filling his eyes. _

_ "Why?" Sam choked out, knowing that it would be pointless to get away—John had taught him everything he knew. John's grip on the trigger tightened and Sam felt tears prick at his eyes. This couldn't be happening. His father wasn't doing this to him. No, this had to be a trick or something! _

_ "I can't save you," John mumbled, a sad smile on his lips. "God, Sammy, I'm sorry." _

_ "Dean—" Sam began because he knew that something was wrong here. Maybe Sam couldn't figure it out, but Dean could. Where was his older brother? _

_ "He's not coming, Sammy." John answered._

_ The last thing Sam remembered was the gun going off and the searing pain before darkness encompassed him._

The kitchen gradually came back into focus as Sam slumped against the wooden cabinets. His head hurt like hell, but Sam was pleased to see that he hadn't hurt himself visibly. Dean would never have to—

"Sammy?"

Crap. There was his brother standing in the doorway, concern all over his face.

"Sammy, what—?" His older brother's gaze met his and Sam knew that Dean had instantly figured out what had happened. Immediately, Dean knelt to his brother's side and eased his up from against the counters. "What's wrong?"

He'd been dreading that question.

"Dean—" Sam tried to push himself away, only to find that he lacked the requisite energy. Groaning, he slumped back against the cabinet. Dean searched him for damage, cataloging every inch of his body and when he was satisfied, Dean met his gaze once more.

"Was it a vision?" Sam had noticed that Dean's voice always grew hesitant and cautious whenever Sam's power was brought up. Whether this was because Dean was worried that Sam's powers would spell trouble in the future or that the whole idea of having a power was kind of freaky, he would never know.

"Dean," Sam tried again, wishing that he had the strength to run out of the room because if Dean found out about the vision . . . Sam didn't even want to think about it. "I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked you," Dean retorted as he helped Sam up. A serious expression filled his older brother's eyes and Sam mentally cursed. "Was it a vision?"

"Yes." Sam sighed.

"What did you see?"

Sam had never been so grateful as when Dean's cellphone rang. Glancing at the caller I.D. Dean answered it and Sam released a breath that he hadn't even realized he had been holding.

"Yes sir," Dean replied and Sam instantly knew who he was speaking to—their father. "Yes sir, Sammy and I will stay here until you're done." With a quick bob of his head, Dean listened to whatever it was that John was saying until he finally hung up the phone.

"Dad?"

"Yeah. He's hunting." Sam's eyes lit up with surprise.

"So soon?" Their father had been hurt pretty bad and could barely get around after long periods of time.

"He says he's researching about the demon," Dean replied. "He'll be back in the morning." Sam nodded his head and rubbed his temples, willing the pressure in his mind to flee. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you see?" Sam knew he wouldn't be able to escape Dean or his questions—his older brother was insanely stubborn and when it came to Sam's health, he took everything seriously.

"Nothing." Sam lied.

"Nothing?" Dean challenged.

"It was all a blur," Sam mumbled. He hated lying, but until he knew for sure what the vision meant, there was no point in upsetting Dean. "I didn't see anything."

"You sure?" Dean questioned, seemingly accepting the lie.

"Yes." Sam knew his older brother knew he was lying, but he didn't get called out on it. Instead, Dean grabbed a glass, filled it with some water, and thrust two pills at Sam.

"Go rest."

With that command, Dean headed once more outside and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Sam was lying—Dean could tell that with just a glance.

Whatever it was that Sam had seen—because Dean didn't buy his story about the vision blurring one bit—had spooked his little brother to his core. Something in that vision had caused Sam to shut down and if it was the last thing that Dean would do, he was going to figure out what that was. His little brother was suffering and he needed his older brother to make it better.

Dean just had to bide his time and wait for his moment.

"Dean?" Bobby's familiar voice filled the salvage yard and Dean placed his trusty crowbar aside and faced the old friend of the family. "Where's Sam?"

"Resting," Dean answered. "He got one hell of a migraine today." Bobby frowned and Dean wondered if he should tell Bobby the truth about Sam. What would Bobby say? In the end, Dean couldn't take that risk, not yet. Besides, it was Sam's choice to decide who knew about his powers, not Dean's. Even if Dean wished that he had someone else to confide in about his worries about Sam . . .

"Migraine?" Bobby echoed and then shook his head. "He get those often?"

"Yeah."

"Where's your daddy?"

"Researching."

"What?" Bobby asked. "He just left?"

"Said he'd be back by morning." Dean eyed the Impala pleased with how much progress he had made in so short of a time frame. Pretty soon, his baby would be up and running again.

"Alright," Bobby replied, seemingly placated by the response. "Well, get inside. It's late and you're going to catch a cold."

"Never pictured you as a mama hen, Bobby. Bit too old, aren't you?" Dean said with a smirk. Bobby smacked him against the head.

"Idjit." Bobby muttered before heading inside. Dean chuckled dryly, but felt a feeling of foreboding enter his system. Sam was hiding things, their dad had just taken off—things couldn't get worse, could they?

"Famous last words." Dean mumbled as he took one final glance at his baby and headed back inside.

* * *

Functioning on only a few hours sleep a day could do terrible things to the human body.

John barely ate and had dark circles under his eyes. He felt sick and looked even worse. John's nightmares had refused to let up and his inability to find a solution that didn't involve killing Sam wasn't helping. His promise to return to his boys long forgotten, John steeled himself against any doubts that he wouldn't be able to save Sam. Dammit, this was his family! He wouldn't fail his youngest!

_Death is the greatest gift . . . _

That one line was on constant repeat in his mind. It was the first thing he heard when he woke up in the morning and it was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep at night. John refused to believe it—refused to let himself think about killing his son, but truth be told, his resolve was wavering. He loved Sam, but he couldn't let his youngest turn into a monster either. Sam deserved better a fate than that.

"There has to be a way." John muttered, eyes scanning the page of the latest book.

_Death is the greatest gift . . . _

"No." John hissed, because death wasn't a gift. It was cruel—it took people away and broke those left behind. Death was unforgiving and refused to give anyone honor or peace when they lay bleeding out on the ground. John wasn't going to put his son down like a rabid dog. Sam deserved more than that and he sure as hell deserved to be saved from his fate. Pushing the book aside, John placed his head in his hands. What could he do? "Mary."

_Death is the greatest gift . . . _

She stood before him dressed all in white, a glow cast around her. She was just the same way that he had always remembered her. Golden blonde hair with the prettiest blue eyes he had ever seen—death could not take those features away from her. She smiled softly and John knew that he should've been worried or throwing salt at her, but he was just so tired.

_Death is the greatest gift . . . _

She repeated it over and over again until he thought he might go mad. Her eyes were filled with tears and she sobbed, but still the words kept coming out of her mouth.

"Whoever you are," John mumbled, weary and so damn tired. "The answer is no. I won't kill Sam."

_Death is the greatest gift . . . _

She kept talking undeterred. When John finally mustered up the strength to reach for salt, Mary vanished in a blinding light. But her voice lingered—always there, always telling him what to do. John knew that thing hadn't been his wife, but that still didn't stop her from haunting his dreams. Now, whenever he was in the field with Sam, so was she, begging for John to kill their son. The voice—her voice—haunted him in his waking hours too. Something was wrong with him . . .

Without so much as a second thought, John grabbed his keys and prepared to go back to Bobby's.

* * *

One week—that was how long their father had been gone. One week without so much as a phone call or a hasty message left on one of their cells. Dean had been worried sick, though in hindsight he knew it wasn't abnormal for their dad to go missing for long periods of time. When John finally did turn up, Dean immediately knew something was wrong. For one thing, John looked ill. Their normally strong father had circle under his eyes and a wild look on his face. It was almost as if he hadn't slept in days—a thought that worried Dean more than he cared to admit.

"Dad?" Dean asked as he immediately helped John to a chair. "What the hell happened?"

"Couldn't find anything." John replied gruffly. "Where's Bobby?"

"He went out," Dean answered as he carefully glanced over his father, searching for any injuries. "Something wrong?"

"I need to talk to him." John said in a clipped tone.

"Dad, what's—?"

"Dad." Sam greeted, devoid of all emotion as he stepped into the room. Dean frowned as he noticed that Sam too appeared sickly though Dean knew this was due to his visions. The poor kid had been getting a vision each day and as the days had progressed, the visions had seemed to have taken much more of a toll on his younger brother. Sam; however, refused to discuss whatever he had seen, which worried Dean even more. All Dean's attempts to initiate a chick-flick moment had been rebuffed with a chorus of "I'm fine, Dean" and "Stop worrying about it, Dean". To be honest, Dean was starting to get frustrated with Sam and he wished that Sam would just tell him what the hell he saw and why it had scared him so.

"Sammy." John mumbled, concern, worry, and pain entering his eyes.

"Dad, where have you been?"

"Bobby," John muttered, refusing to break his gaze away from Sam. "Something's wrong. I need to talk to Bobby."

"What's wrong?" Dean pressed, but John said nothing. He simply stared at Sam, almost as if he was sizing him up—a thought that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. "Dad—"

"Get Bobby." John told his eldest and Dean knew an order when he heard one.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied as he glanced around for the keys to the old van that Bobby had up and running. "C'mon Sammy."

"No," John interjected, finally meeting Dean's gaze. "Sam and I need to talk." The finality in his father's voice left no room for argument. Dean met Sam's gaze and his younger brother simply nodded which reassured Dean slightly. He wasn't sure why he was getting so worried. He was leaving Sam with their father. Sam would be fine. Nodding back at his brother, Dean headed outside and pulled out his cellphone. As luck would have it, Bobby didn't answer so Dean got into the lame minivan and willed it to move as fast as possible.

There was something wrong—Dean could feel it.

He just wished that he could figure out what it was.

* * *

Sam knew the moment that Dean left that his vision was going to come true.

"Let's go for a ride, Sammy." John said with a smile on his lips and grief in his eyes. Sam nodded, knowing that he could do little else—knowing his fate was sealed the moment he let Dean walk out the door. It was foolish, he supposed. He should've told Dean about his visions, but if John wanted to kill him, Sam had to know why. If he had left Dean know, getting the truth would've been impossible.

They took the Impala even though it wasn't completely repaired. Sam felt strangely relieved by this because if he closed his eyes, he could pretend that Dean was in the driver's seat and that they were going to nowhere in particular. Sam knew; however, that this was just an illusion. John was in control and for whatever reason, he was going to kill him.

"You find what you were looking for?" Sam questioned, feeling strangely numb even though he knew that he should've been terrified at the thought of being shot through the heart.

"No." John answered grimly.

They drove in silence after that until they came to the field that Sam had seen in his visions. John stepped silently out of the car and Sam followed suit, wishing that Dean were with him. If he had to die, Sam thought, why couldn't Dean be with him? The gun appeared suddenly, and it was with a precision that took years of training to obtain that John aimed it at Sam's heart.

"Dad?" Sam whispered, knowing full well that this was happening, yet feeling strangely removed from it all. His father was pointing a gun at him, prepared to kill him. Why was this happening to him? "Christo." It was a half-hearted attempt, a last ditch effort to make sense of what was going on. John didn't flinch and Sam felt his heart constrict—his father wasn't possessed.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." John said with a broken sigh, the grief filling his eyes.

"Why?" Sam managed to choke out. His lungs felt like they were on fire and he couldn't seem to get a full breath in. His heart pounded within his chest, as if encouraging John to take his shot now.

"I can't save you," John mumbled, a tired and sad smile on his lips. Tears stung at Sam's eyes and he could see them mirrored in John's eyes as well. "God, Sammy, I'm sorry." Sam wanted to scream, to call out for help, but he knew there was no one around here for miles. No one to see his body crumple on the ground, no one to try to save him, no one to give him peace. No one like—

"Dean—" Sam began, wishing he had said something to his brother, wishing Dean was here to make things all better like he did when they were kids. Why had he let Dean go?

"He's not coming, Sammy." Sam knew that now—knew that John's quest to have Dean find Bobby was just a ploy to separate the two brothers.

"Why, Dad?" Sam persisted.

"Death is the greatest gift." John mumbled, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Then, resolve evident in his eyes, John then pulled the trigger.

_**Author's Note: **__How'd you like part 1? This definitely one of the darkest stories I have ever written and is so long that I had to divide it up. Expect the next part soon. Please review! _


	2. Family

_** Author's Note: **__This was extremely hard to write. I wrote it all out, hated it and deleted it, and now I'm finally happy with this. I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you for all the kind words/story favorites/story alerts/etc.! It means a lot to me! Just a brief warning, there's a bit of foul language in here so read at your own risk. Please enjoy!_

* * *

_And all I need is you_

_Come please I'm callin'_

_And oh I scream for you_

_Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'_

—_Nickleback "Savin' Me"_

* * *

_God, Sammy, I'm sorry . . . _

Sam was burning.

Flames licked his chest and if Sam could've cried out for help, he would have. The pain was too much though and he could barely breathe let alone speak. He could hear broken sobs beside him and he wondered with an odd sense of detachment if John was crying over him. He then dismissed that as impossible—his father never cried and he certainly would never cry over him. John hated him.

_If you walk out that door, Sam, don't you ever come back! _

Visions of the fight over Stanford filled his head. Watching sheer fury fill John's eyes, seeing Dean stand helplessly by, finally storming out the door with his duffel in hand when John had given him that ultimatum, walking aimlessly until Dean had managed to catch up to him in the Impala. Sam had learned that night the lengths his father was willing to go to keep his boys under his control. No, John had never loved him. The sobbing must've been for someone else's sake.

_My point is, Sam, that this was never the life I wanted for you._

The vision shifted and Sam was suddenly in that room, smiling and laughing with his father. That night had been one where Sam realized that maybe John had made some mistakes, but he still cared for Sam—still loved him and protected him. They had bonded that evening and for a brief respite they had simply been father and son, not commander and soldier. Sam wished that they had shared more of those moments together.

The vision faded and Sam was left with his father's voice in his mind saying 100 different phrases and expressing 100 different emotions. Memories replayed of John—some good, some bad—but in every single one Sam could tell that his father had cared about him. Maybe he had expressed his care in the wrong fashion, maybe Sam had made some mistakes too, but the point was that John had loved him in some way.

That made the fact that he was dying much harder to accept.

If John cared, why had he done this? What did he think he was saving Sam from? The fire that seemed to consume him burned even hotter and caused Sam's train of thought to derail as he tried to focus on breathing—a task which was becoming more difficult by the second.

"Dean." Sam whimpered, wanting his brother beside him. Dean could take the pain away. Dean could save him. He wanted his big brother. He wanted Dean to make a snarky remark—_Chicks dig scars, Sammy—_and hide his worry behind the façade that only Sam had learned to see past. Dean could make things better, could save him.

But Dean was halfway through town looking for Bobby. Sam might've been losing consciousness from the blood loss and his head might've been spinning, but even so, he deduced that the wound was bad enough that if Dean didn't show up within the next ten minutes, he was a goner.

_I'm so sorry, Sammy._

The voice continued weeping.

Sam let his eyes close.

* * *

Something was wrong—Dean could sense it to the very core of his being.

Forcing the mini-van—his baby was almost repaired, but Dean didn't want to risk her just yet—to speed even faster, he scanned the road looking for Bobby's worn-down truck. Their dad's sudden appearance had spooked Dean and frankly, he wanted to get back to Bobby's house as soon as possible. There was a haunted look in their dad's eyes—something that caused Dean's instincts to protect Sam to flare up. He knew this was, of course, ridiculous because Sam was safe with their father. Sure the two argued like no tomorrow, but in the end, they were family and family looked after each other.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Still, the dark feeling lingered and Dean couldn't shake it. Why was he so worried? Sure, their dad had looked sick, but there was no sign of anything worse—no blood, no bruises, nothing. Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he tried to calm his pounding heart. He was running on adrenaline, almost as if he was in the middle of a hunt. It was odd, considering that he wasn't chasing down any monsters.

It also made him want to get back to Sam that much quicker.

"Yahtzee!" Dean exclaimed as he saw Bobby's truck parked in a gas station. Pulling in quickly, he spotted the older hunter and killed the engine and practically sprinted over to Bobby. The older hunter was startled by Dean's sudden appearance and almost dropped his book that he held within his hands.

"Dean, what the hell is your—?" Bobby began.

"It's Dad! He's back." Dean exclaimed and realization dawned in their friend's eyes. Still, the older hunter kept calm—that was one thing Bobby always was, calm, even in the face of impossible odds—and simply took a deep breath in before speaking.

"He hurt?" Dean shook his head. Confusion then filled Bobby's eyes and Dean understood why it was there. He wasn't making much sense, but the feeling of foreboding was consuming him completely and if he didn't get back to Sam right fucking now, there was going to be hell to pay—that Dean knew.

"No, but he looked sick," Dean answered, desperately trying to contain the panic that was threatening to destroy him. "Said he needed your help. Told me to come get you." Bobby nodded his head and put the gas pump back. Pulling out his keys, he opened the car door.

"Where's Sam?" Bobby questioned suddenly.

"He's with Dad." Whether it was because he heard the edge of fear in his voice or whether because he knew something was wrong, Bobby moved with quickness that Dean hadn't seen in him in years.

"I'll follow you." Bobby told him.

They took off towards the house.

* * *

The house was deserted and the Impala was missing. Sam's cellphone lay on the kitchen counter and John's was not turned on, leaving Dean only to wonder where his father and his brother had gone.

"Did your daddy say he was heading anywhere?" Bobby questioned gruffly and Dean shook his head. He wanted to panic, wanted to scream, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. He had to remain calm and in control. Sam was fine. Currently missing along with his father, but fine otherwise. He had to be fine.

"No." Dean mumbled, trying to shake the fear out of his head, trying to shun the foreboding that was coursing through his veins.

"We'll find them." Bobby assured Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder and shooting him a small grin. Dean nodded his head and wondered where they should start looking when Bobby's phone rang. Immediately, the older hunter answered it and Dean observed his face fall and Dean felt his own heart plummet.

"Who—?" Bobby pulled out his car keys and barked an order for Dean to get in the truck. Bobby sped and ran three red lights before the two hit a dirt road that led to an open field filled with dead grass. The grass crunched under Dean's boots and as he scanned the area, he wondered why they were here. It was in the middle of this pondering that Dean eyes caught the sight of a crumpled form in the grass.

"Sammy!" Sam's name tore from his throat as his sprinted across the field. The cold wind burned, but Dean ignored it and found that he could only focus on his little brother lying so still—deathly still—on the ground. Reaching his brother, Dean glanced down and saw the crimson pool of blood that had stained Sam's shirt red and was continually bleeding. Dean felt like he had been punched for it suddenly very hard to breathe. "Sammy, hey, Sammy, please, God, Sam, open your eyes." Dean placed hand a on his brother's cheek and wished that Sam would sit up and say that this was all some messed up prank that he had pulled—_Got you Dean! I finally got you!—_and then they would all laugh together.

Except Sam wasn't waking up.

Cursing himself for not doing this earlier, Dean's hand flew to Sam's neck as he checked for a pulse. Those few seconds of waiting were the longest in Dean's life, but with a relief Dean found Sam's pulse. It was slow and weak, but it was still there. Smiling affectionately, Dean carded a hand through Sam's hair. His brother had always been a fighter.

"Sammy, please, open your eyes," Dean pleaded. "Sammy—"

"Dean." Bobby's voice pulled him away from his brother as Dean focused on what Bobby had found—a gun.

"Shit," Dean swore because this had suddenly become so much worse. Sam had a gunshot to the chest and they needed to get to a hospital right now before the blood loss created any more problems and they needed to find their father. "Bobby, there's so much blood and—"

"One thing at a time," Bobby told him gruffly. "And first things first, we get your brother to the nearest hospital—"

"And then find out who the hell is responsible for this." Dean hissed, his eyes turning murderous. Bobby nodded his head in agreement because while these two may be John's boys, they were his family too and an attack on one of them was an attack on all of them.

"D'n?" Sam wheezed and instantly Dean's attention was once again was focused on his little brother.

"Hey there, Sammy," Dean greeted, a blinding smile on his lips. "You're gonna be okay. Bobby and I are going to get you to the hospital. Hang in there, alright?" Something dawned in Sam's eyes and he bolted upright. "Sam, easy there!" Blood poured out of the gunshot wound and Dean grimaced. Not good.

"Dad!" Sam shouted, his eyes filled with panic. "Dean, Dad—!" Sam groaned with the effort that talking took and Dean instantly supported his brother as Sam wheezed and tried to get some oxygen into his damaged lungs.

"Sam, breathe!" Dean snapped, worry seeping into his tone. God, he hated it when Sam was hurt. He always felt so powerless, so useless! His job was to protect Sam, to keep him safe and he had failed that. He had failed Sam. "We'll find him, don't worry."

"No, Dean," Sam wheezed in-between the gasps. "Dad, he's not—" Sam's voice gave out as his brother sagged against Dean's arms, clearly exhausted.

"Sam, shut up." Dean ordered gently. Sam's babbling was just making his injury worse. He needed to focus on breathing and let Dean worry about everything else.

"Dean, we need to get moving." Bobby's voice interjected and Dean nodded his head. Finding his father would have to wait for now—Sam was his first priority. With a strength that he didn't know he had in him, Dean hefted his brother up and apologized softly when Sam's face contorted in pain. Slowly, they began to move towards Bobby's truck.

"Stop."

"John," Bobby greeted, relief evident in his tone. "You hurt?" Dean allowed his gaze to travel to his father whose own shirt was covered in darkened blood. His eyes still held that haunted look and he was shaking, all of which caused the foreboding that Dean had felt earlier to go into overdrive.

"Put him down." John ordered and Dean's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Dad—" Dean began.

"He needs a hospital." Bobby spat.

"I said," John began, pulling out a pistol and aiming it at Dean. "Put Sam down."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Bobby growled, stepping dangerously close to eldest Winchester. "You hit your head or somethin'? Sam's been shot! He needs a hospital."

"I know," John mumbled, his eyes clouding with grief. "I shot him."

For the briefest of seconds, no one said anything and the field was silent.

Then, it all went to hell.

"You shot him?" Dean echoed, unable to comprehend what was going on. No, this had to be a trick. It had to be a demon—that was the only logical explanation. "Christo!"

John didn't flinch; Dean's heart fell.

"I had to!" John protested, waving the gun around in his hands. "Dean, it's the only way to save Sam."

"Save Sam?" Dean muttered angrily, because Sam was bleeding out—Sam was dying—and John was saying that this was saving Sam. "Dad, move!"

"Dean, stand down!" John barked as he aimed at his eldest. "This is not your call to make anymore."

"It's not yours either," Bobby informed John as he held the other pistol that had been used to shoot Sam. "John, something's wrong with you. Put the gun down and we'll figure out what it is."

"Nothing is wrong!" John shouted.

"Then, why did you call me at the house?" Bobby challenged. "Why did you shoot Sam right above his heart?" The implications of this newfound information filled John's eyes with sadness, grief and hope all mixed into one look—a look that seemed to pierce Dean's soul. "John, I refuse to believe that you actually want to kill Sam."

"Sam has to die." John mumbled.

"Why?" Bobby challenged, but John remained silent.

"D'n," Sam slurred and Dean's attention once again was focused on his brother. "Go. Leave me."

"No way in hell, Sammy," Dean spat. "It's you and me against the world, right?"

"Right." Sam whispered right as he faded into unconsciousness.

"Sammy?" Dean frowned as he noticed the growing puddle of blood that was forming beneath Sam. They had to get out of here fast or Sam wasn't going to make it. "Hold on, Sammy. We're moving." Dean began to walk towards the truck, but John cut off his path, gun leveled at his heart.

"I said, put him down." It was an order given from his commander. Dean never disobeyed. No, rebelling had always been Sam's thing. Sure, John had taught Dean to always obey him; however, John had also taught him that Sam came first. _You protect your brother_—those had been John's words and the mantra that Dean lived by. If it came down to his father and Sam, then Dean would choose Sam. He had prayed it would never come to that, but now . . . Sam wasn't dying, not on his watch. And if John intended to kill Sam, well, that was too bad because Sam wasn't going to die today. Dean would make sure that his brother got out of this in one piece or her would die trying.

"No." Dean's voice came out as hard and unyielding. Brief shock lit up on John's face before being replaced by fury. He readied the gun.

"Fine."

Another gunshot rang out in the field.

* * *

Dean had prepared himself for the pain of being shot, but none came. Instead, John crumpled in the field, cursing as the gun flew out of his hand. It dawned on Dean that Bobby had shot John in the leg and now the old friend of the family was towering above John, ready to shoot his other leg if necessary.

"You get Sam in the truck," Bobby commanded. "I'll stay here." Dean nodded and slowly, but surely made his way to the reliable truck. He wasn't sure where his baby was, but John had the keys and right now, Sam needed help so they hadn't a moment to lose. As soon as Sam was settled, Dean made his way back to Bobby.

"You don't understand!" John screamed, voice mixed with fury and grief. "Sam's fate—he has to die!"

"John," Bobby began, shaking his head. "Listen, to yourself! You're talking about killing your son!"

"It's the greatest gift I can give." John mumbled, his voice becoming quiet.

"Bobby—" Dean began.

"Go on," Bobby told him. "Get Sam to the hospital."

"But what about—?"

"Get Sam to the hospital now." Bobby ground out and Dean nodded his head. Bobby would handle things here and frankly, Dean wasn't sure if he could handle being around his angry and possibly delusional father. He wasn't sure he could trust himself to control his fury and not attack his father. No one hurt Sam and got away with it—not even John Winchester.

So, he got in the truck and drove like there was no tomorrow.

* * *

The hospital staff had taken one look at Sam and quickly rushed him into surgery, leaving Dean to worry and wait. Thankfully, there had been no questions and their fake insurance had gone through so for the moment, it seemed things were looking up.

If you call Sam being shot by their dad looking up that is.

Dean had tried to process that bit of information, but found that he couldn't truly believe it. Even though John had admitted it and even pointed a gun at Dean, the older Winchester brother's mind seemingly refused to believe it as possible. John loved Sam. He cared for Sam.

Right?

"Mr. Jones?" Dean's head instantly snapped up as rose to greet the young surgeon.

"How is my brother?" Dean questioned urgently.

"Well, we removed the bullet," She explained. "And thankfully, it lodged above his heart. He's going to need a lot of rest, but he's stable."

"He'll make it?" Dean pressed, needing to hear the official diagnosis.

"Well, there is always the risk of infection," She added. "However, in Sam's case, he's very healthy and all his organs were spared. I think it's safe to say he'll be okay." Immediately, the tension from Dean's shoulders was lifted and a smile lit up on his face.

"Can I see him?" Dean asked.

"Yes," She replied. "Follow me."

She led him to a small private room and Dean finally felt himself breathe as he saw Sam's sleeping form. He rushed in and parked himself in the crappy chair that would hurt his back, but who cares? Sam was going to be okay—at the end of the day that was all that mattered.

"Scared me today, Sammy," Dean whispered, knowing his brother would never hear it, but that was okay. He wasn't a "chick-flick" moment kind of guy, but when it came to Sam . . . Well, sometimes his little brother brought out that side of him. "Glad you're going to be okay."

"D'n?" Sam mumbled groggily as he turned towards his older brother's voice.

"I'm here." Dean told him. Sam opened his eyes and Dean had never felt more relieved. "You with me?"

"Uh-huh." Sam murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"The doctor said you'd be alright." Dean told him with a grin on his lips and joy in his eyes.

"Dad?" That was the question he had been dreading. What should he say? Bobby's taking care of it?

"He's with Bobby." Sam nodded his head slowly and then groped for his brother's hand. Dean held it and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"M'sorry." Sam slurred.

"It's not your fault, Sammy." Dean assured him.

"I saw it." Dean titled his head to the side in confusion.

"What?"

"Vision." Sam explained simply and Dean's blood ran cold. The visions that Sam had been having everyday—he had known John was going to shoot him and not said anything?

"Why didn't you—?" Dean began, a 100 different emotions swirling within him and yet, he was unable to express what he was truly feeling. He was hurt that Sam hadn't told him about the vision's subject matter and also a bit worried.

"Didn't want . . ." Sam wheezed. "To be a pain."

And suddenly, Dean understood why Sam hadn't said anything.

"Hey," Dean interjected sharply. "You are not a pain." Sam smirked and it was the most beautiful sight that Dean had seen all day.

"Sure about that?" Sam challenged.

"Okay," Dean relented, allowing himself to be drawn into the banter. "Sometimes you are quite the pain in the ass." They both laughed and for the first time in a long time, things felt okay. It felt like they could survive whatever else was thrown their way. After a few more minutes, Sam's eyes began to droop once more.

"Dean?" Sam began, eyes shutting.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Stay?" His voice sounded so weak, so pitiful. It reminded him of when Sam had been little and had begged him not to go out on hunts with their father.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."

It was a guarantee.

* * *

Hours passed.

By the time morning rolled around, Bobby had arrived and Dean knew the moments he saw him that he came bearing bad news.

"That bad?" Bobby said nothing, simply sat in another chair across from Sam's bed.

"How is he?"

"He's going to be fine." Dean informed him.

A pause passed.

"Your daddy got away," Bobby began. "But not before I found out what was wrong with him. You ever hear of being possessed by a ghost?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. "But I thought that ghosts couldn't really do that."

"Normally, they can't," Bobby started. "But some ghosts—the really powerful ones—they form bonds with people. And your daddy, he's bonded with one nasty spirit."

"What?" Dean asked, shock dripping into his tone. His father—the man he used to know anyways—would've never joined forces with a spirit. It went against every code John Winchester stood for! "What do you mean bonded?"

"The spirit will lend the host some of their power in exchange for having a home inside their body." Dean shook his head, trying to dispel the image of his father from his head. Something had been off when he had returned home. Why hadn't Dean seen it?

"How do you get rid of it?" Dean pressed.

"Special kind of exorcism," Bobby replied. "But Dean, there's something else."

"What?"

"To be bonded with a spirit," Bobby shifted uncomfortably. "You have to agree to do it. Your daddy . . . he wanted to be possessed in order to "save" Sam, whatever the hell that means."

"He chose to do it?" Dean questioned, needing to hear it once more because it was so impossible. John working with the very same things he hunted? Trying to kill his son? It all sounded too bizarre to be true and yet, here Dean was being told just that.

"Yes," Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to process everything that was being thrown at him. "Look, Dean, I hate to bring it up, but your daddy . . . he'll come after Sam again. He won't stop until Sam's dead or that ghost is gone."

"I know." Dean sighed.

"You know," Bobby began, almost conversationally. "You two are welcome to stay with me as long as you need."

"Bobby, I can't let you—"

"The hell you can't!" Bobby snapped. "Family is more than just blood, Dean. I know things are screwed up now, but you're gonna need help."

Dean nodded his head because yeah, he will need help protecting his brother from his own father, from a hunter that has way more experience that Dean does. He wished it could be different, this wasn't happening, but this was real. There was no more denying it.

"Okay," Dean said. "Thank you, Bobby."

Their father might've gone AWOL and had become possessed, but the Winchester boys were not alone.

They were never alone.

* * *

They released Sam from the hospital a week later.

John was still missing and, as far as anyone could tell, he had completely dropped off the radar. The fact that his father was out there though, waiting for his moment to get to Sam scared Dean to no end, not that he let Sam see that. Sam had recovered quickly and almost two weeks after being shot, he was back at 100% and itching to get out and go somewhere—anywhere.

A hunt came up—a simple salt and burn. It was something small, something to get them back on their feet after an experience that would've shattered anyone else. They left with Bobby's blessing and a promise to keep in touch. They hadn't talk about what had transpired, though Dean knew Bobby told Sam everything about the ghost possession.

So, they drove and didn't talk about it and tried to pretend like everything's okay when it was obviously not. It was the Winchester way of dealing with things. After a few hours though, Sam finally turned to Dean and his eyes were full of sadness and guilt.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" He prepared himself to reassure Sam that John was crazy and that this was in no way Sam's fault when Sam simply smiled.

"Thanks." Dean felt the burden on his shoulder lighten considerably.

Sure, things suck right now and their dad is out to kill one of them, but it's moments like these that make Dean's life better. The apocalypse could be happening right outside and one smile from Sam would make it better—that's always the way it would be.

"You're welcome."

They continued driving, leaving the bad memories behind and knowing that as long as they had each other, they could handle anything.

And in the end, that was all the mattered.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Phew! That was really long and difficult to write. Still, I hope you enjoyed it. Forgive me if Bobby seemed out of character, as this was my first time really writing as him. I might do more stories set in this universe, but I'm not sure. I hope you all enjoyed though! Please review! _


	3. Sequel Sneak Peek!

_**Author's Note: **__Hi everyone! I thought I would thank you all for all the kind words about this story and let you all know that I'm working on a sequel. The first chapter will be up tomorrow, but I thought I would give you guys a sneak peak. So, here's a little preview of the next story in this universe, "The Hardest Choice." __Please enjoy!_

* * *

A phone ringing in the dead of night is usually an indicator that something terrible had happened. A phone call at 2:30 AM usually meant that someone had been hurt or died. Normal people dreaded these phone calls. For Bobby Singer; however, phone calls at such an early hour were not an odd occurrence. He knew hunters who lived in different time zones; hell some of them lived in different countries! So, he hadn't been worried when he had answered the phone with a gruff, "Singer."

_"Bobby?"_ It was a young woman's voice, timid and scared. The older hunter racked his mind to try and place the voice on the other end of the phone, but found he could come up with nothing.

"Who the hell is this?" He growled, because if he had woken up because of a wrong number, someone was going to pay.

_"Nadine,"_ The voice answered. _"Nadine Young. We met two months ago after you helped me out on some research?"_ Bobby nodded as an image of young woman filled his mind. Nadine was new to hunting solo, but she had grown up in a family of hunters. She was experienced for a hunter of just 21 years old, but her research skills were sorely lacking; however, she was extremely polite and Bobby had been almost glad to help out. She had even bought him a drink afterward.

"Right," Bobby murmured. "Something wrong?"

_"Listen, I was wondering if you could give me some information on another hunter."_ Bobby forced himself to rise from his bed and flicked on the lights to the hall as he shuffled to desk where he kept his contact info.

"Sure," He told her. "Name?"

_"John Winchester." _

His blood ran cold. It had been almost a month since John had vanished after trying to kill Sam and he had literally fallen off the radar. No one had seen him and no one could seem to find him—Bobby included. So, what was John doing now that he had exposed himself?

"Where are you?" He forced his tone to remain calm so as to not frighten her. Last thing he wanted was for her to hang up on him.

_"Dallas, Texas,"_ She replied. _"I was in this bar, checking up on some things and he came over to me. Told me he knew I was a hunter. He said he wanted my help on something."_

"On what?" Bobby pressed, fearing the response.

_"Said he was hunting a demon that hadn't fully possessed someone. He was hoping that I could track down the host and let him know where it was." _

"And what did you tell him?" He hissed, because dammit John was still hunting Sam and was now recruiting other hunters!

_"I said no,"_ Nadine replied. _"There was something . . . off about him, Bobby." _

"Off how?"

_"Like he wasn't really all there, you know?"_ Nadine supplied and Bobby sighed. He knew. Ghost possessions did that to people.

"Listen to me," Bobby ordered. "He's dangerous. Stay away from him, Nadine."

_"Why? What's wrong with him?" _

"I don't have time to explain," He told her as he frantically grabbed his keys. "If he talks to you anymore, call me right away."

_"Bobby, what—?" _

"I got to go." He hung up and cursed loudly before practically sprinting to his truck.

Sam and Dean were in Austin on a hunt and if John was in the area . . . An image of Sam, bleeding and broken filled his mind. For the few split seconds that they had arrived at that desolate field, Bobby had thought Sam had died. Seeing Dean's anguish at finding his brother like that had broken his heart. They had been lucky that time—Sam had lived.

But would he survive another encounter with his father, especially if John had help?

Bobby couldn't risk it—those boys were just as much his as they were John's and he would risk life and limb for them.

He floored it and prayed that he would make it in time.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__So, there's your sneak peak! The first chapter will go up tomorrow! Thanks for all the continued support! _


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